~BERNARDINE EVARISTO~

THE BETROTHAL

---

 

His pupils 
are soaked in desire, 

float in a crisp January sky, 
show no mercy, 

even as mine plead 
innocence. 

A small gold link 
to my heart 

lies in the damp crevice 
of his supplicant palm, 

spiders crawl 
up his forearm, 

I am level 
with his beige linen 

abdomen, black leather girdle, 
slung low. 

"The Ægyptians," he proclaims,
"discovered a most delicate nerve 

on the finger anularius, 
the only one, indeed, 

with a direct line 
to our greatest gift: 

The Human Heart. 
And so with this ring, I thee betroth, 

Zuleika, 
cherished daughter 

of our man from Nubia, Anlamani." 
He takes my limp hand, 

fills 
the trembling gold 

and withdraws 
ever so, 

ever so,
ever so 

slowly, to applause, but 
I flick my hand down, 

so that Cupid's cute 
little handiwork 

tinkles on the ground, 
amidst gasps. 

My eyes lock his in 
then, 

and smile. 
He has just made 

of my greatest gift 
an exile.
 
 

© by Bernardine Evaristo